If You Have Loved As I Have Loved
by Aurora Borealia
Summary: Mr. Carson has everything he ever dreamed of when Mrs. Hughes accepts his proposal - so why does it seem like a dark cloud is hanging over this joyful occasion? When Mr. Carson realizes the real reason Mrs. Hughes is hesitant to set a date, he does a bit of soul-searching and, diving into his own past, learns the common feeling they share beyond just their love. Asexual!Chelsie


_**A/N - So there's a story to this story. I'm asexual, meaning I do not experience sexual attraction. Before season six of Downton aired, I was watching a TV special that showed teasers for upcoming episodes. One such teaser showed only part of the scene where Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore talk about Mrs. Hughes' worries for the wedding night. What they didn't show was that her concerns stemmed from her appearance, so I of course thought it was some sort of play on asexuality (obviously not asexuality exactly, since the term didn't exist in 1924) and was ecstatic.**_

 _ **But my hopes were dashed by the actual episode. Mr. Carson saying he couldn't have a "lie" of a marriage killed me; I recently rewatched the episode and it hurt just as much. So I took solace in fanfic and found a lovely story called The Ace of Hearts by Mestizaa, which inspired me to write my own take. When I started, I intended it to bounce back and forth between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, but then Mr. Carson entirely took over. :)**_

 ** _Spoilers for up to the first few episodes of season six. Disclaimer - I own nothing but my hopes and dreams for canon asexual characters. ;) Hope you enjoy!_**

 **If You Have Loved As I Have Loved** **\- A Downton Abbey Fic**

It was Christmas Eve - or, rather, the wee hours of Christmas Day by now. The entire house was asleep, more quiet and peaceful than even that stable on the first Christmas night. And yet, one person lay awake in the great house, his mind too full to allow him rest. Actually, it was only one thought - one all-encompassing thought - that kept running through Charlie Carson's brain that night. _She accepted_ , ran the strain, _I proposed and she accepted_. It was the greatest Christmas gift anyone had ever given him or would ever give him, and the pure joy would last him through New Year's, probably until Easter.

They had gone out to the Christmas party, waiting to tell the family and the staff until the celebrations died down. Mr. Carson thought for sure that he would burst as they waited and sang and toasted, waiting until he could declare his joy to all the world. But when at last the tenants filtered out and it was down to just the house's main occupants, the time to speak had finally come.

"Excuse me all," he interrupted as everyone moved to bustle off, whether to sleep or to clean up, "I know it has been a long evening and you are all very keen to retire, but I have something I would like to share with you all."

At once, dozens of curious eyes turned towards where he stood, outlined against the lights of the massive Christmas tree, glistening and shining against the dozens of polished surfaces in the great room before him. Mrs. Hughes smiled and walked up to stand next to him, shooting him a confident smile as she did so.

"I would like you all to know I have a secret I've been hiding," he began, knowing he had successfully kindled curiosity, "The secret that - although some of you may find it difficult to believe - I am in love. My love has endured through feast and famine, through war and through peacetime. And tonight has confirmed that the subject of my love loves me as well."

He reached out and took Mrs. Hughes hand in his own, "I have asked Mrs. Hughes - the wonderful Elsie Hughes - to marry me...and she has accepted."

The gasps of delight that accompanied his revelation were gratifying. At once, His Lordship was striding forward, clapping Carson on the shoulder with a hearty chant of "Carson, my dear boy, that's wonderful!". And Lady Mary, his Lady Mary, who was dearer to him than his own flesh and blood could ever be, had clasped her hands together and was beaming in loving euphoric joy.

The wine was uncapped once more for one final toast before bed. It was a toast to the future, and no drink had ever tasted sweeter on Mr. Carson's lips than this one. It warmed him to the core and made his mind swim, although he knew the wine was not the reason he laid awake now. Not by a long shot.

When at last he finally drifted to sleep, he knew the sun would be rising soon, awakening him far too early and prompting him to wonder if it had all just been a dream. But when he did awake, he found that he was not suffering for his lack of sleep, his joy still causing him to move with a grace and rhythm he hadn't had since his dancing days. And much to his delight he realized he hadn't dreamed it at all. No, when Mrs. Hughes touched his hand the next day and Mrs. Patmore smiled at them, and Daisy giggled, he knew it was all very real.

And so it continued to be real as 1924 faded into 1925 and winter thawed into spring. There was no rush to set the date, no pressure, no hurry. This was a bliss he had never experienced before, a delicious joy he savored and let climb through his skin like gooseflesh on a brisk morning. Every day he jaunted about, humming and singing to himself, very old songs about love he hadn't sung since long ago. But soon, Mr. Carson found his blustery delight fading, replaced instead with a tiny creeping feeling of dread. He was still so grandly happy, of course - how could he not be? But he noticed that Mrs. Hughes did not seem to feel the same. She smiled when she looked at him, sure enough; her eyes brimmed with a love he had long since given up hope he'd see in a woman's eyes, let alone _this_ woman's eyes. And yet there was a sadness too, a look that seemed to say she was living in a fantasy from which she would soon have to wake up. Naturally, Mr. Carson's wonderment and worry were not for himself, but for Mrs. Hughes. Had he done something to hurt her in any way? He could be insensitive at times, but had he done something even he couldn't recall?

Of course, if he dared try to ask Mrs. Hughes about it, she would shrug it off with a nervous laugh, insist that nothing was wrong and that her thoughts were only miles away because she was thinking about work or her family or the plans for the wedding. But he knew that there was something lurking deep underneath the placid surface of her thoughts, something that he longed to help her fix and he racked his brain trying to think of what on Earth it could be.

Then, one day, as they passed in the hallway, he took her arm gently and asked her if they might set a date for the wedding. It was her reply that made it all as clear as day to him.

"There's no rush, certainly," she said lightly, although he could tell by the lilt of her voice and the uncomfortable shift in her step that she was belaying a much bigger issue, "The years have no doubt changed me, but I promise the passing of a few weeks won't do anything to change my mind about this. But your passion does you credit, Mr. Carson."

As she had bustled off to finish her work, Mr. Carson merely stood stock-still at the bottom of the staircase leading to the Upstairs. Passion? _His_ passion? It was those words that kindled his memory, and suddenly he remembered a day - a day so very long ago before the war and before the house had seen so much tragedy and death. He was just beginning to realize his love for her back then - or, rather, was just getting brave enough to admit it to himself - when it seemed possible he could lose her forever. She had been out at a local fair with a farmer who had once courted her - Joe Burns, if memory served him correctly. Mr. Carson's relief could not be overstated when it turned out Mrs. Hughes had rejected the man. Yet, despite his good fortune, Mr. Carson couldn't help but wonder why she had given up this second chance at happiness. He asked her about the next night when they sat in her sitting room, having a small glass of port before bed as they always did.

"I dare say it wouldn't have worked between us," she said when he had gently broached the subject, "Even back when we were first courting, Joe was such a stout-hearted man, so full of passion and ardor. I suppose that when I rejected him the first time back then it was only partially to do with my career in service, and a bit more to do with that ardor. It's all nice and well to have someone's passion to make you feel special when you're courting, but when it comes down to it...when it comes down to being that passionate all the time...well, let's just say I don't think I was the woman for him, neither then, nor now."

Despite his growing love for her at that time, Mr. Carson knew too she was saying these things to him in trusted friendship and nothing else. She probably didn't even expect him to remember the conversation a few weeks after they had had it, let alone carry it with him for several years. Indeed, he hadn't known he carried it either, but here it was. Suddenly, those words spoken between friends all those years ago made sense to him and shocked him deeply - but not because of the propriety or impropriety of it all, the way matters of this sort usually shocked him. Rather it was because he realized now as he examined himself that he understood what Mrs. Hughes had really meant that night. That Mr. Burns' passion - the physical love he had had for her - was a love she could not return.

Now, as he drifted through the house doing his duties, he was distracted by another thought...a memory...a scene from his youth when he and Charlie Grigg were still the Cheerful Charlies and there was still Alice. She called him "Charles" back then, while Charlie Grigg got to be "Charlie", and although Mr. Carson clearly loved her more, it seemed she was bound to choose Charlie instead. As he did with most things, Mr. Carson forced himself to smile and accept it, even though he felt like he had been betrayed by both the woman he loved and the man he trusted enough to sing and dance with. How he could go on with either of them was beyond him. But one night, after Grigg had hit the bottle particularly hard as he sometimes liked to do, a sobbing Alice was left in his wake. Mr. Carson had found her, sitting behind the stage and nursing angry tears. No matter how ill-used he felt, Carson could never have left her sitting there alone and, fearing Grigg might have hurt her in some way, he immediately came to her aid.

"Alice? What's the matter? What's happened?" he had said, falling to his knees by her side to try and comfort her.

He knew first-hand that Grigg could get nasty when he was drunk, so although he was not particularly surprised when Alice told him about the ensuing row she and Grigg had had, he also silently seethed. How would Charlie Grigg be so callous, so causally flippantly cruel to such a dove?

"He didn't...?" Carson tried to ask her, his words somehow failing at the mere thought of anyone hurting her.

She immediately shook her head, "No, no, nothing like that."

But of course, the words had been harsh enough, stinging her like a physical slap.

"I know he didn't mean it..." she kept repeating, intoning it like a prayer "That's not the real him, not at all, I know he didn't mean it, but..."

Carson merely comforted her and soothed her as her tears faded, chastely patting her hand and giving her friendly words of encouragement. He looked at her as she collected herself, his heart breaking for her and for himself as well. When she looked up and saw him watching, she suddenly leaned forward and, putting her hands behind his neck, pulled him into a kiss. He was caught so off-guard he almost forgot for a second this is what he had been wanting for so long. When they broke away, he merely gaped at her.

"Oh, Charles." she sighed longingly as she watched him and leaned in again for a second kiss, this one longer and more tender than the first.

His wits returned to him, Carson remembered to enjoy it this time, drinking it in like a man on borrowed time. At last it ended and he came up for air, but she pulled him in again, passionately embracing him, leaning against him, her lips conveying a fire it was surprising to think she possessed. And yet in spite of himself, Carson felt an unexpected emotion strike through him - pure terror. He gently pulled his head away, putting his hand out ever so slightly as if to request she pause. For several moments, they both sat there, panting as if they had just run across country. The little delay seemed to shake her out of a trance, and she ran her hand over her mouth as if in shock and shut her eyes. She seemed...relieved almost. And surprised she had gone that far.

"Thank you, Charles." she said at last when the breath returned to her body, "Thank you. I almost lost my head in a moment of passion and you did the gallant thing to stop me from ruin."

She looked up at him with pure gratitude and yet he couldn't help but stare back at her in confused disbelief. Even after she got up and, kissing him on the cheek, departed, he couldn't help but stare after her, eyes glassy and mouth dry. She said he had been gallant and stopped her from ruin. But Carson realized in that moment that he would have reacted the same way even if they had been husband and wife. He loved Alice with all his heart and soul, that he could not deny. But in that moment too, he had been shocked by the idea of her physical love - of _any_ physical love - and the ferocity of desire. Despite the depth of his love, he felt as though he could never return that type of fiery emotion.

But he never really got a chance to ponder it further. Alice chose Charlie and not him, and so Carson went on with his life. He became Mr. Carson the butler at Downton Abbey, renouncing Charlie Carson the dancer for good. He silently nursed the wounds he felt he received from the whole ordeal, but nevertheless carried a silent torch for sweet gentle Alice and buried the ponderous feeling that had kept them apart that night.

So he indeed understood what Mrs. Hughes was feeling - what she articulated to him that night years ago when she rejected Mr. Burns. All Mr. Carson was left to ponder was how on earth he hadn't realized it sooner. How had he been so insensitive when he had been through this same thing? Why oh why had he kept bullying her all these months into picking a date for the wedding? He spent the rest of the day in sullen silence, wrapped up in the gauzy cling of memory and his own self-loathing. His insensitivity had made Mrs. Hughes uncomfortable and he would never forgive himself if he had damaged their relationship beyond repair because of it.

Waiting for a chance to talk to her was like agony, every second that went by a reminder that she was living ill at ease. When at last the evening came and he could put an end to her suffering, Mr. Carson jumped on it. As soon as the servants' dinner was over, he took Mrs. Hughes gently by the arm.

"Might I have a word with you if you're not busy?" he whispered, "I promise it isn't about setting a date."

She looked a little surprised, but he couldn't be sure why. Maybe because of his assurances that the meeting wouldn't be about the wedding date, which he had heretofore been so eager to set. Maybe it was because they met every night and likely would have met this night too, and yet his message made this particular meeting seem so urgent. But whatever the reason, the look in her eyes cleared after a second and she smiled, nodding in agreement as he gestured for her to enter his office.

When they were safely inside, he closed the door behind him, hoping to signal this was a private not-to-be-disturbed conversation, and gestured for Mrs. Hughes to sit down. He sat across from her and fidgeted nervously. Somehow, he was almost as nervous for this conversation as he had been on Christmas Eve.

"Mrs. Hughes...I realized when we spoke earlier today that I might be making you uncomfortable with my talk of wedding plans." he began.

"Oh, no, nothing like that..." she hastily said, but he held a hand up.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm not saying this because I'm angry with you. I could never be that. I'm saying it because I'm angry with myself," he sighed, "I know now that I've embarrassed you and made you feel awkward, and I hate the thought of that more than anything in the world."

He looked down in shame, only looking up again when he felt her gently pat his hand in comfort. Her eyes were swimming with sadness as she stared back at him.

"You haven't embarrassed me." she assured him, "It was never my intention to make you feel guilty about anything."

"Nor was it mine. And I want you to know you have nothing to feel awkward about."

"Yes I do," she gently insisted, "You've done nothing wrong, Mr. Carson. It's not you at all, it's me."

"Please don't talk like that." he said, voice taut with sadness, "I know you might find this difficult to believe, but I understand what you're going through. At least, I believe I do. About what you said to me years ago after your meeting with Mr. Burns."

Just as he predicted, she indeed looked shocked. But she nodded along with the assessment nevertheless. They were silent for a moment in light of this revelation before Mr. Carson broke the silence.

"So, what do you propose we do?"

"Do? Well...I was hoping you would still consider marrying me. If you still want to, that is."

"Of course I do." he said vehemently, "It's all I've dreamed about for years."

"And I promise you it would be a very happy marriage. A very warm, loving marriage."

"But we wouldn't...'know' each other as the Good Book tells us Adam and Eve 'knew' each other." he queried gently.

"Well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way..."

He sighed very quietly to himself, his mind turning over the events of the day, the memory of that event so long ago with Alice, the understanding that this was truly what Mrs. Hughes wanted. He loved her so very much - just looking at her made him ache with love. She was so beautiful, so kind, so intelligent and wise, and he had prayed for the moment when he could one day call her his wife. And although his proper Victorian era parents would have been shocked by the prospect and his Georgian grandparents revolted, the fact that she did not want to consummate their marriage - an idea that, he admitted, would have shocked him too just a few years ago - did not give him any pause. If anything, as his memory of Alice demonstrated to him, it might be his own destiny as well.

"I would very much like to marry you, Mrs. Hughes," he said at last, "I want to live with you in friendship and in love until ashes to ashes and dust to dust. And the thought that I almost lost you forever over something so stupid and so trivial as...physical passion...makes me so angry with myself it's a wonder I was able to even think straight today. I want us to live together in the way that makes you feel comfortable and safe. I didn't admit it to myself until now, but I believe it's how I want to live too...truly."

She stared at him for a moment, seemingly overwhelmed. She had never said what she wanted aloud, but it seemed to Mr. Carson like he had hit the nail on the head.

"But it doesn't change the way you see me?" she asked quietly at last.

"Mrs. Hughes, perhaps the only thing that could change the way I see you is if you told me you shot Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and even then I think I'd let you off with a stern warning so long as you promised you'd never do it again."

She laughed very suddenly in response - a carefree laugh of relief and surprised delight that suggested she was laughing in spite of herself. And of course she was. After all, it was so rare for Mr. Carson to crack a joke he had caught _himself_ completely and pleasantly off-guard; what Mrs. Hughes must think of him at this moment he could only imagine, but based on the tender look in her eyes, it could only be good thoughts.

"And you won't mind it?" she pressed, allowing herself to smile a bit, "Your ancient sensibilities won't be ruffled by the idea of not having a _full marriage_?"

"I freely admit that it might have seemed insurmountable to me once. But I love you, more than anything in the world. And I tell you, Mrs. Hughes...Elsie...that if the ancients had loved as I have loved they would know that some things are more holy than 'knowing'".

She smiled at him in utter delight and chuckled. He couldn't help but chuckle too, relief barbing through him. He would marry this woman and they would both be content to their dying days, consummation be damned. He knew the bliss of this love was Heaven-sent, that it couldn't have been more holy if he was an angel and Mrs. Hughes a saint. So what did it matter if they married without physicality attached? It didn't. It didn't matter to him one bit. This was who she was...it was who he was too. And now it was time for the two of them to be like this together.

She rose from her spot across from him and he rose to meet her, coming to the other side of the desk so he could very gently kiss her trembling lips. It was all the union either of them ever needed.

And so they were married. And as songs were danced to and glasses of fine wine emptied, Mr. Carson couldn't remember a time when he had even dared to dream of being this happy. That night when they went home to their new cottage, it was not as most young fresh-faced couples, with the strong man carrying his blushing bride across the threshold. Rather, Mr. Carson stuck out his hand as he had in the sea spray that summer day at the beach when Mrs. Hughes had confirmed something he always knew - that he could take her hand to make him feel steady. She smiled now as she smiled then and took it, and together they crossed the doorway into their new home, into their new life - Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes - Mrs. Carson - Elsie.

And together the flopped down on the bed, totally exhausted in their euphoria, the adrenaline of the day finally ebbing.

"I really ought to..." he murmured, but she shushed him gently.

"Bathing and nightclothes can wait," she said drowsily, "I think I'm too tired to stand. Let's just lie here for awhile, you and I."

"I can't think of anything better." he replied.

So they sprawled out together, still in their fineries, as Elsie put her head on his chest. Soon the steady sounds of her breathing confirmed she had fallen asleep, but Mr. Carson couldn't help but lay awake for awhile longer, smiling down at her. They would sleep this way every night, no matter what - her head on his chest and his arms supporting her gently.

"And they lived happily ever after." he muttered, leaning down to kiss her head before he too fell asleep.


End file.
